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Riddle was silent, organizing all I had told him. He spoke cautiously. “You think that FitzVigilant might be Lord Golden’s son?”

I shook my head. “He’s the wrong age. Huntswoman Laurel was one of the women I thought might be a possible mother.”

“More to the point, he has the wrong father. Laurel the huntswoman was his mother, Chade now says. But Vigilant claimed him as son. Unless the lad had two fathers …”

“Or was claimed by someone who didn’t father him,” I pointed out. Then I sighed. “He’s still too young. Unless Lord Golden had paid another visit to Buck.”

We both fell silent. Would he have returned to Buck and not contacted me? I didn’t think so. Why would he have returned?

“What do you know of Lord Vigilant?” I asked Riddle.

“Not a great deal. He’s a bit of a boor, and his estates were in disorder for some years. When I first heard of FitzVigilant, I was surprised that Lord Vigilant had been able to persuade any woman to lie down beside him, let alone that he, a single man, would recognize a bastard. But perhaps that does make sense, if he thought the boy his only chance for an heir. But he did take hold and hired a good man to help him in the running of his estates, and when he began to prosper, he married. I think that was when his troubles began. What lady would want a previous bastard to take precedent over her rightfully born sons? It wasn’t long after that when FitzVigilant was sent to Buckkeep, and wound up in Chade’s care.” He thought a moment longer. “I cannot see any connection between him and a possible child conceived by the same lady many years earlier.”

I shook my head. “No. Just a peculiar coincidence. I opened a poke expecting a piglet and found a cat. But it doesn’t end my search for this ‘son.’ I think I might be wise to make inquiries of Huntswoman Laurel herself.”

Riddle shook his head. “That would be difficult. She is many years gone, Fitz. I remember when she left Buckkeep Castle, much to Queen Kettricken’s disappointment. She had been instrumental, until then, in dealing with the Old Blood faction. She left so suddenly there was rumor that she had quarreled with someone in a high position, but if she did, it was well hushed. And before the year was out, we had word of her death.”

I pondered this. Had Laurel fled Buckkeep to keep a pregnancy private and bear a secret child? It was a mystery many years old, and far outside my concern. I was sad to know she was gone. She had been kind to me. I shook my head and let her go. “Riddle. As you are out and about, can you keep an ear open for any gossip about my messenger?”

“Of course. I’ve heard nothing of her pursuers. You know that. But I may do better at tracking her. You think she fled to … where?”

To a pile of ash in the sheep pens. “I don’t know. But I am more curious as to where she came from and who pursued her. I’d be as interested in what you might discover of her and those who hunted her before she came here as after she left.”

“I’ll keep an ear open. I suspect she would have come up the Buck River. I’ll make some inquiries on my way back to Buckkeep.”

“And I take that to mean that you wish to leave here soon.”

“My task is done, and then some. I delivered my package safely to you, as I was ordered. I didn’t mind helping for a time, but I do have things I must get back to.”

I nodded slowly, feeling hollow. I hadn’t realized how much I’d slipped into depending on him until he spoke of leaving. Riddle was someone who knew the man I once had been, someone I could speak openly to; that had been a comfort. I’d miss him. My voice did not betray that. “How soon must you leave?”

“Three days from now.”

I nodded again, knowing that he was allowing me time to adapt to his absence. He added, “By then Lant should be up and around, so you’ll have at least one man at your back.”

“He did not watch his own back very well. I doubt I shall trust him with mine.”

Riddle nodded and admitted, “He does not have the edge you and I do. But that does not make him completely incompetent. He’s young yet. You should get to know him better.”

“I will. As soon as he feels better. I thought he might want some privacy to heal.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Not everyone is as solitary as you are, Tom. Lant can be very social. Being away from Buckkeep Castle is going to be hard on him. You should know that he actually welcomed Shun’s visit. And that when he is healed, if she needs a dancing partner for practice, he’s excellent. He’s a very witty conversationalist, well educated and affable. He was very popular with the ladies of the court, despite his low birth.”

“I should visit him.”

“Yes, you should. He is a bit in awe of you. Whatever you did to him the first time he met you, the effect has not worn off. It took a great deal of courage for him to come here, not only to seek permission to teach your daughter, but to hope for your protection. It was a bit … humiliating. But Chade told him it was really his only choice.”

I hadn’t seen it in that light before. And it was interesting to know that Riddle knew of my first encounter with FitzVigilant. Still Chade’s man, in some ways. I said nothing of that, but observed, “He thinks I’m still angry with him.”

Riddle nodded. “He’s well enough to come to table and move about Withywoods. But he’s been behaving as if you confined him to his rooms.”

“I see. I’ll take care of that this afternoon.”

“Tom, he’s a youngster, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a friend to you. Get to know him. I think you’ll like him.”

“I’m sure I will,” I lied. Time to end this conversation. Bee had heard enough.

Riddle’s ability to understand what I didn’t say sometimes made me uncomfortable. He looked at me almost sadly. He spoke more quietly. “Tom. You need a friend. Lant is young, I know, and your first introduction was … poorly considered. Begin again. Give him a chance.”

And so that afternoon I tapped on the door of FitzVigilant’s chambers. Bulen opened the door immediately. I saw Revel’s hand in the improved fit of his livery and tamed hair. I surveyed the tutor’s room unobtrusively, and found him to be a man of tidy habits, but not overly so. The medicinal unguents that Chade had prepared for him were neatly arrayed on the mantel. The smell of arnica oil flavored the room. FitzVigilant himself was seated at a worktable, writing a letter. Two pens were at the ready, and a pot of ink and small blotter. On the other end of the table, a gaming cloth was laid out with a Stones puzzle on it. I wondered who had taught him the game. Then I reined my thoughts sharply and kept my focus on my target.

He came to his feet immediately and bowed, then stood silently, regarding me with trepidation. There is a way that a man stands when he does not wish to appear aggressive but is ready to defend himself. FitzVigilant stood like that, but when coupled with the defeated look on his face he was almost cowering. I felt sick. I recalled what it was to have lost all confidence in my body. This was a man already subdued. I wondered how broken he was, if he would ever recover enough to be any sort of a man-at-arms. I tried to keep pity from my face.

“Scribe FitzVigilant, I am pleased to see you up and about. I came to ask if you were well enough to begin joining us for meals.”

He didn’t meet my eyes as he bobbed his head. “If that would please you, sir, I shall begin doing so.”

“We would enjoy your company. It will give not only Bee but the rest of the household staff an opportunity to know you better.”

He bowed again. “If it would please you, sir—”

“It would,” I interrupted. “But only if you are comfortable also.”

For a time our eyes met, and he was a boy standing naked by a hearth as a trained assassin ripped through his clothes. Yes. A bit of awkwardness to the beginning of our relationship. One we would have to overcome. The silence held, and something changed in him as determination set on his face.

“Yes. I shall be there, Holder Badgerlock. 

Chapter Twenty-Six
Lessons

...

A dream from a winter night when I was six years old.

In a market square, a blind beggar sat in his rags. No one was giving him anything, for he was more frightening than pathetic with his cruelly scarred face and crumpled hands. He took a little puppet out of his ragged clothes; it was made of sticks and string with only an acorn for a head, but he made it dance as if it were alive. A small sullen boy watched from the crowd. Slowly he was drawn forward to watch the puppet’s dance. When he was close, the beggar turned his clouded eyes on the boy. They began to clear, like silt settling to the bottom of a puddle. Suddenly the beggar dropped his puppet.

This dream ends in blood and I am afraid to recall it. Does the boy become the puppet, with strings attached to his hands and feet, his knees and elbows and bobbing head? Or does the beggar seize the boy with hard and bony hands? Perhaps both things happen. It all ends in blood and screaming. It is the dream I hate most of all the dreams I have ever had. It is the end dream for me. Or perhaps the beginning dream. I know that after this event, the world as I know it is never the same.

My first dinner with my new tutor was the worst meal of my life. I was dressed in one of my new tunics. It itched. It had not yet been taken in to fit me, so I felt as if I were walking about in a small woolen tent. My new leggings were not yet finished, so my old ones were both too short and baggy about the knees. I felt like some peculiar wading bird, with my legs sticking out the bottom of my ample clothes. I told myself that once I was seated at the table, no one could tell, but my plan to be first there failed.

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